Chương 4
That was a mistake.
People were already arguing.
Somebody had posted an old photograph of Grant receiving a commendation with two other detectives.
A retired officer wrote that Grant was “one of the good ones.”
A woman Rachel did not know replied that people said that every time.
Someone else asked why a child had been allowed to “chemical-spray a police officer.”
Another person said there was obviously more to the story.
There was always more to the story, Rachel thought.
That phrase suddenly seemed useless.
Of course there was more.
There were thirteen years of more.
There were grocery lists and school pickups and Christmas cards and arguments about thermostat settings. There was Grant teaching Emma to ride a bike and running behind her until she screamed at him to let go. There was Rachel sitting in an urgent care parking lot two years earlier, touching purple marks on her upper arm and deciding not to go inside.
There was Grant crying at his father’s funeral.
There was the time he drove six hours through sleet when Ruth had emergency surgery.
There was also a night in March when he stood over Rachel while she sat on the bed and asked her which part of I said no she found confusing.
More did not always make things less terrible.
Sometimes more was how terrible things survived.
Rachel closed the browser.
Ten minutes later she opened it again.
By noon, Tara called.
Rachel almost ignored her.
“Hey,” Tara said when she answered.
“Hey.”
“You sound awful.”
“Thank you.”
“I meant physically.”
“That’s better.”
A pause.
“Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“I’m at my mom’s.”
“I know.”
Rachel frowned.
“How?”
“You told me last month that if you ever disappeared from work without answering email, I should call your mom.”
Rachel had forgotten that.
She sat very still.
“What else did I tell you?”
“Not much.”
“Tara.”
“Nothing useful. You said Grant was being weird.”
Rachel looked toward the kitchen. Ruth was making toast and pretending not to listen.
“What did I say exactly?”
“That he knew I drove you to a dentist appointment.”
Rachel shut her eyes.
She remembered.
Grant had asked why Rachel had been on Wilshire Avenue at 2:17 on a Tuesday.
She had said dentist.
He asked why Tara’s car was there too.
Rachel told him Tara drove her because she was having sedation.
Grant had smiled and said, See? Easy. You tell me things and we don’t have problems.
At the time Rachel assumed he had checked family location sharing.
But Tara was not on their family account.
“How did he know your car was there?” Rachel asked.
“I thought you told him.”
“I didn’t.”
Tara was quiet.
“Rachel, should I be worried?”
The question landed differently than Rachel expected.
Not should I worry about you.
Should I be worried.
“No,” Rachel said quickly.
Then she stopped.
She had promised herself, in Ruth’s living room at two in the morning, to pay attention when she heard herself making Grant smaller.
“I don’t know,” she corrected.
That afternoon she called Bell.
Bell listened.
“Has Grant ever had a reason to run your coworker’s plate?”
“Not legally.”
“You’re sure?”
“I don’t know what legally means in this context.”
“Did she witness a crime? Was she part of an investigation? Did he stop her car? Interview her?”
“No.”
“Send me her name and number. I’ll ask her myself.”
Rachel hesitated.
“Will that get her involved?”
“She gets to decide how involved she wants to be.”
Rachel disliked that answer because it took the decision away from her.
She sent Tara’s number.
Three hours later, Tara texted.
That was weird.
Rachel replied, Sorry.
Tara sent back, I didn’t say bad. I said weird.
The temporary protective order hearing happened four days after the kitchen.
Rachel wore Ruth’s navy cardigan because her cream blouse had been taken as evidence and because raising her arms high enough to pull anything over her head made her ribs burn.
Emma stayed with Tara.
Grant appeared remotely from a detention room.
Rachel had not expected his face to affect her.
It did.
His eyes were still irritated from the cleaner. There was a bruise near his jaw and a medical sling across one shoulder.
He looked tired.
Human.
Rachel hated that too.
His attorney spoke first.
He described the kitchen incident as a “marital confrontation that escalated unpredictably.”
Rachel stared at the screen.
Grant’s face remained still.
The attorney said Rachel had concealed money, attempted to leave with the couple’s child, initiated physical contact, and directed Emma to spray Grant with a chemical product.
Rachel leaned toward Bell.
“I didn’t direct her.”
“I know.”
“He said I directed her.”
“I heard.”
The judge asked the attorney whether he disputed that Rachel had suffered injuries.
“No, Your Honor. We dispute how they occurred.”
Rachel felt her pulse inside her injured wrist.
When it was her turn, she answered questions.
She said Grant had discovered the account.
She said he took her phone.
She said he grabbed her.
She said he shoved her.
Grant looked down only once.
When Rachel described asking Emma to call Ruth, Grant’s attorney interrupted.
“Why not 911?”
Rachel’s mouth went dry.
The whole room seemed to become smaller.
“Because he’s police.”
“You believed every member of his department would ignore a violent crime?”
“No.”
“But you refused to call emergency services because your husband is a detective?”
“I had already made an emergency call.”
“So you did trust emergency services.”
“I trusted an outside agency.”
“Which you had arranged in advance.”
“Yes.”
“Because you were planning to leave your husband.”
“Yes.”
“Without telling him.”
Rachel looked at the attorney.
“Yes.”
The word felt different each time she used it.
Not louder.
More solid.
The attorney asked whether Rachel had been collecting money secretly.
“Yes.”
“Making safety plans secretly.”
“Yes.”
“Speaking with a domestic violence advocate secretly.”
May you like
“Yes.”
“And all of this before the incident you now claim caused you to fear your husband.”
